The Time Traveler's Dilemma
by Lena Belle
Summary: After a devastating breakup with Chuck, Blair decides to travel back in time in order to prevent herself from ever falling in love with him. But her task turns out to be harder than she imagined, especially if Chuck has anything to do about it. CB.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So this is my first ever sci-fi fic. Time travel is always a tricky subject, and I'm pretty sure I broke a ton of the established rules here, but please bear with me. I don't mean for this to be scientifically accurate, just entertaining. **

"So you're certain this won't hurt, Mr.—" I asked the balding, middle-aged man by my side.

"Radzinsky."

"Right. I mean, I won't be ripped inside out or trapped in some alternate universe for eternity?"

"Most definitely not. The Revisor has been thoroughly tested and thousands before you have seen results with little to no pain."

"Little?" I whimpered, clutching my Birkin bag just a little bit tighter.

"You'll be fine, Miss Waldorf." I wasn't so sure. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver key. "Now before we send you back, we need to be positive that you're sure about this. Altering your history is not some impulsive decision."

"For God's sake, I've plunked down fifty grand to have this done and you still don't think I'm sure?"

"We've seen customers change their minds before. They successfully Revise their lives, then come back later begging us to let them go back. Let me tell you, it's much easier, not to mention cheaper, to fix whatever problems you have in the now rather than flitting back and forth through time."

"No, I'm sure. I've never been surer of anything in my life," I said, raising my chin up to meet his doubtful gaze. "Besides, it's _his_ money I'm spending. It's the least he could do for ruining my life."

My heart twitched with pain as I thought back to that terrible night at the Palace when all hell had broken loose and Chuck Bass had hurled at me words that only a Bass could dish out. We screamed and we threw things and by the time we were through, he had fled our suite and holed himself up in a room at the Empire, while I turned to Audrey and Jacques Torres chocolates for solace.

It was in the middle of one of these post-Roman Holiday sobfests when it occurred to me that only a day before, I had been reading an ad for something called the Revisor. I dug through my wastebasket (in my defense, it was nearly empty) and dialed the fateful number.

My plan was simple; I was going to travel back in time to that cursed moment when I fell in love with the Basstard, use my natural scheming skills to destroy it, then presto! My future would be Bass-free. Foolproof, right?

Only Dorota knew what I was planning on doing, and she had begged me not to do it.

"I know nothing 'bout time, Miss Blair, but I know you no mess it," she had said, wringing her hands nervously. "Meester Chuck come round soon."

Well, I didn't know about that, not that I would ever give him a chance, and I swiftly proceeded to this ReviseIt store.

This Radzinsky man was now unlocking the glass case and pulling out something that glinted in the light. My trained eyes immediately swept over every inch of it before I lowered them in distaste. Despite its gold exterior, everything else about it was disappointingly ugly. The contraption resembled a digital watch, but the date in blinking neon green accompanied the time, and awkwardly large knobs and dials jutted from the sides.

"This--," he said, holding up the watch-like instrument with pride, "--is the latest model of the Revisor." I sniffed and looked down at my wrist where I was expected to wear the thing.

"It doesn't happen to come in silver, does it?"

He ignored me.

"Now, all you need to do is spin this dial here until it reaches the desired date and time, granted you know it," he said, looking up at me. I smiled and reached deep into my oversize handbag, which was filled with every diary I had ever kept—and I kept my diaries religiously—ready for this mission.

"Anything else?" I said impatiently.

"The other knobs fast forward and rewind, pause and play. Very user-friendly," he said, as he affixed the thick straps around my wrist. "And I assume you're aware that while you are Revising, time here passes normally?" I nodded. "And your affairs are in order?"

"My maid is taking care of all of my phone calls and visitors. I'm on an extended trip to Dubai." Hey, I wasn't valedictorian of Constance Billard for nothing.

"Finally, be forewarned that you can only travel back to and change events in _your _past. You'll find that you are unable to venture into the memories of others unless you yourself were there too."

"I expected that."

"Then you are prepared." He looked at me expectantly, and I knew what I had to do. With slightly trembling fingers, I spun the dial to the date of my first memory, part of me suddenly thinking that this wasn't such a good idea after all. Blair Cornelia Waldorf, Time Traveler. I suddenly imagined what I would look like inside-out; the picture wasn't pretty.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the largest button on the Revisor, which was also blinking green.

Suddenly, Mr. Radzinsky's face had dissolved into a dizzying blur, melting into the clean whites of the showroom. It was much like looking into a washing machine, as colors and faces from my past swirled and tumbled around me. Faces and bodies spun like images on a pinwheel past my head, which pounded as if a giant invisible hand was squeezing it from above. The combined effect of my rushing surroundings and my aching head forced me on my knees to the ground, clasping my forehead with my hands. Finally, when I felt like screaming for help, thinking something must have gone terribly wrong, my body collided with the ground and I found myself crumpled against the cold marble of my foyer.

_September 1, 1997. 10:34 AM._

Getting up, I assessed my bruises with my fingertips, all the while wondering, "_What on earth just happened?"_. Had I fallen from the stairs and just woken up from a dream-filled coma? The muted thud of footsteps emanating from above me erased all thoughts of my bruises as I scrambled to my feet, my black pumps (entirely the wrong shoes to wear while time traveling, let me tell you) clacking against the glossy floor.

"Dorota? Dorota?" a shrill voice called from the top of the stairs. "And don't think I didn't hear you before." Against my better judgment, I stopped in my tracks. The voice sounded like a distant relic of my memory. Could that be…me?

When no response came, the footsteps became increasingly louder as whoever was calling descended the stairs.

"The DVD player isn't working and I want to watch Sabrinaaa." There was no longer any doubt in my mind that it was me. The nature of the demand, along with the whining tone in which it was delivered, was like my trademark, even now. I held my breath as her—_my_ feet hit the marble then came to an abrupt stop.

I looked up and found myself face to face with my five-year-old self, pink headband, white frock, and all. I looked like Little Bo Peep. Grimacing at the sheer ridiculousness of my childhood wardrobe, I instead regarded the wary eyes she was studying me with. Realizing there was no way she'd be able to recognize me, I relaxed.

"I don't know you," Five-Year-Old Me challenged, her tone sharp and biting. "Does my mom know you?"

"I'm…a friend of the family," I said.

"Then why don't I know you?" she replied. For the first time in my life, I cursed my shrewdness.

"I knew you when you were _really_ little."

She was still studying me.

"What's your name?" It was an order. I wondered how many other adults I had ordered around as a child.

"Blair Waldorf."

"You're lying," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You're making fun of me."

"No, no, I'm not. I wouldn't. I'm just—look. This might be shocking and you'll probably never believe it, but I'm you _from the future_. I'm who you'll be in nineteen years." She placed her hands on her hips. Never a good sign coming from me.

""DOROT—"

"Shut up!" I whispered. "Look at me. Don't I look at least a little bit like you?"

"If that's what I end up looking like, no thanks," Five-Year-Old Me said with the bitchface I had perfected even then. "And I would never wear that dress. The color alone is atrocious." Touché, me.

"My mother, Eleanor Waldorf, designed this dress and FYI, chartreuse is in this season." I shot back before I could stop myself. Immediately after the words left my mouth, I mentally facepalmed myself. I was _not_ about to argue with a younger me, especially not with a five-year-old.

"Regardless," I moved on. "I can prove I'm you." I searched my mind for some of my most intimate secrets at that tender age. "Let's see..I have a birthmark near my armpit. My diary is hidden in the miniature safe underneath my dolls, and the combination is 5429 for Audrey Hepburn's birthday. I have a crush on Nate Archibald—"

"I do not!" Five-Year-Old Me said, blushing scarlet at my last confession.

I fixed her with a knowing look.

"My mom could have told you all of that stuff anyway," she said.

"Then how do you explain this?" I rummaged through my bag until I found the thin diary with the silken cover and gilded pages, my very first diary.

"Hey, that's mine! You stole my diary!" she squealed. Before she could snatch it from me, I flipped through it, revealing that every last page had been filled with shaky, five-year-old handwriting.

I saw her eyes widen as she recognized the handwriting.

"I'm not making this up," I said as calmly as I could. She continued to stare at me for a few moments, as if thinking.

"Okay, what if I believe you. Why are you here then?"

"I want to stop you from making a big mistake, one of the biggest mistakes of your life."

"Which is?"

"Befriending Chuck Bass." She just looked at me, puzzled.

"I don't even know who that is," she said.

"But you will tomorrow on your first day of first grade. You'll meet him, immediately hate him, then come home and write about it. The thing is, Nate _won't_ hate him, and as long as he and Nate are friends, you'll have to put up with him as well.

"That's bad?"

"Of course it is! Everything involving Chuck Bass is disastrous." She still looked confused.

"Disastrous…bad?," I explained, rolling my eyes.

"So I keep Nate from Chuck?"

"Use anything—turn up the charm, generate some rumors, anything you have to do. I'm sure you can manage, or else I wasn't the girl I thought I was."

"You're sure this is going to work?" she said doubtfully. "I'm supposed to be really mean to a stranger just because you told me to?"

"Just…imagine he has super cooties, or whatever people your age are afraid of. Now's your chance to make your move. Be the top of your first grade class."

"Chuck Bass cooties," she said, still sounding less than enthusiastic.

"Trust me, once you meet him, this'll be a piece of cake."

I held up my wrist and located the fast-forward button.

"Wait, where are you going?" YoungerMe said.

"To tomorrow. You think I'm going to stick around to braid your hair while you write about this in your diary?"

"What if I need boy advice?" she said, looking at her feet.

"Just stay away from Chuck. _Forever_. That's all the boy advice you'll need."

I pressed the fast forward button and everything around me spun again. I faintly recognized the blur of a maid uniform rushing past me before the nausea and dizziness set in. _50 grand well spent_, I thought dryly.

When the digital time on the Revisor read 6:00AM, I let go of the button and my surroundings stopped spinning. It took me a while to steady myself, but I quickly snuck out of the penthouse and began walking down the street.

I spent a couple of hours nearly asleep, propped up against a nearby building and trying to avoid the suspicious stares of doormen. It seemed like every single person in the building had come and gone, yet my younger self still hadn't left for school yet. Just when I was considering fast-forwarding again, the glass door swung open and Dorota appeared, stooping slightly in order to walk hand in hand with my younger self. Five-Year-Old Me, wearing my Constance Billard uniform and a headband with an enormous flower, was scanning her surroundings as if I might pop up from behind a car any second. Dorota was cursing under her breath in Polish, occasionally switching to English to reprimand Five-Year-Old Me.

"I not know who you looking for, Miss Blair, but you late for school if we don't hurry."

I made sure she saw me and that she was reminded full and well what I had told her to do. Her mouth hung agape as I waved to her, and she looked like she was about to stop in her tracks, but I furiously gestured at her to keep walking and she reluctantly obliged.

Making sure Dorota wasn't looking, I quickly sped up so that they were within view, not realizing when I neared my building that a black limo had stopped beside me. The door nearly hit me in the stomach.

"Excuse me, do I know you?" came a female voice from within. I was about to retort with a scathing reply, but one look at the face, and I felt suddenly ill.

"Mom?"

**A/N: Reviews are always appreciated. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you, thank you for all of the comments! I appreciate every single one of them. **

My mouth hung open wordlessly like a fish in water as I realized my mistake. Watching me gape slack-jawed, my mother raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at me as her pre-Botox-ed face changed from puzzled to disgusted.

"Evidently I don't pay the doorman enough to keep the drug addicts off our streets," my mother, _my own mother_, spat at me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched my six-year-old self with Dorota turn the corner and disappear from sight, but I wasn't about to run off after them. A Waldorf _always _got the last word. I drew myself up to my full height—and in the heels I was wearing, I towered over my mother by a whole inch.

"Oh, do you also not pay your husband enough to stop "vacationing" with male models?"

Now it was her turn to gape.

So okay, it's not exactly proper time-traveling etiquette to call out one's own mother, but the look on her face now was _so _worth it.

"My husband? You don't know who you're talking to."

"Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night." I patted her arm with mock reassurance. "And while we're at it, could you lay off the fat comments? Your daughter deserves better than that."

"You don't know me nor my daughter."

"Do I?"

With that, I sauntered down the street, turning the corner towards Constance Billard, my old stomping ground. Oh, how I had missed this place. Just being on school grounds again lent me some of my old strut. Sure, conquering NYU had been satisfying, but this was where it had all began.

I let myself in through the back door that I knew was always unlocked, carefully buttoning up my plum double-breasted coat before I walked in.

The last time I had been to visit, everything had changed, but there was something so comforting knowing that this version of my grade-school surroundings would always remain preserved in time. Headaches aside, I was quite liking this excursion.

I found my first-grade classroom exactly as I'd left it, except with giant, colorful WELCOME posters adorning the rooms.

"Mrs. Hawking?" I asked the bespectacled lady before me. She turned towards my outstretched hand with evident confusion.

"Excuse me, but you don't look old enough to be a parent."

"I'm Blair Waldorf," I said.

When she didn't respond, I feigned surprise.

"Didn't they tell you? I'm from Upper School. I'm shadowing you today."

"Oh my, they never told me about a student shadower."

"Really? Oh no, I'm not intruding, am I? They only wanted me to get a perspective on how to acclimate students to a new class."

"No, no, it's quite alright. We're a little busy today, so I might not be able to explain everything, but you're welcome to stay and observe."

"Really? How generous. Observing would be just fine for me."

I thanked my lucky stars that Lower School started two weeks after Upper School or else this charade would never work.

I started peering around for signs of Five-Year-Old Me, but before I could spot her, a tiny mini ginger stumbled over the legs stretched out in front of me and began crying from where she had fallen on the ground. I tried hard to hide the distaste so evident on my face.

"Claire!" Mrs. Hawking was yelling from across the room. "Claire!"

"Oh, were you calling me?" I said, grinding my teeth. "I don't usually respond to anything other than Blair."

"I'm sorry, Blair. Just, can you calm Hazel down?"

_Hazel?_

I looked down at the orange-haired creature bawling on the floor. Hazel? As in, my minion Hazel? This was too weird.

Not wanting to touch her and risk getting snot all over my sleeve, I finally decided on warily patting her on the head while making small shh-ing noises. Sure, I had no idea how to comfort a first-grader, but if I was going to play the part, I needed to at least act like I did.

When Hazel's shrieks only got louder, I sighed and pulled out a wad of hundreds.

"Here, go buy yourself a Pretty Pony or something after school."

The tears immediately stopped as she pocketed my money, and I sighed with relief. However, almost as soon as they had stopped, I heard more wailing from the other side of the classroom. _Great, what now?_

I so did not sign up for this.

I was fully prepared to tune it out and pretend to take notes on my legal pad when the new voice shrieked, "NAAAAATE!"

I turned and sure enough, Five-Year-Old Me was sitting, legs crossed and tucked under her behind (always the lady), with a rip in her dress and her hair as tousled as she would allow.

"Chu-chu-chuckkk hurt me!" she sobbed, occasionally casting her eyes towards Nate. Nate, however, couldn't have noticed her more if he had been on Neptune because the mane of blond on legs that was Serena van der Woodsen (even at five) had just leaped into the room.

Watching the younger me, even at five years old, getting rejected by Nate hurt.

"It was…Chuck…" she ended feebly, once she realized Nate was not going to come save her this time. She sniffled and looked around, realizing everyone else was not paying attention to her, and she was utterly alone in a room full of people.

"Amateur," I said from behind her, shaking my head.

"I don't see you coming up with a better plan," she replied with defiant eyes.

"Oh, you have so much to learn." I pulled out my cell phone and handed it to her.

"Call Dorota and tell her to bring your Blairbie."

"Why?"

"Just do it. I'll walk you through it, virgin."

Ten minutes later, Dorota was back with Blairbie in hand. Before I go on, let me tell you about Blairbie. Almost like Humphrey and Cedric, Blairbie was a similarly beloved albeit much cooler staple of my childhood. My mom had always ordered custom Barbies made for me—think less plastic and more porcelain, with real hair and hand-painted eyes. Of course, they were always _so Aryan_. They looked so much more like Serena than they did me. So for Christmas one year, I requested a Blairbie, a doll with dark brown tresses to match my own and twice the spunk of any regular old Barbie, and Blairbie was born. True, she still had those blue eyes of Serena's that I so desperately wanted, you know, the ones that losers like Humphrey write poems about, but I always thought of her as me in miniature.

I smoothed Blairbie's hair and whispered my apologies as I prepared to send the doll, decked out in a headband and her tiny Eleanor Waldorf original, on a mission to the darkest corner of the classroom—Chuck Bass's cubbyhole. Five-Year-Old Me was already on her way to Nate, who was giggling at the finger painting Serena had just created.

When no one was looking, I slipped Blairbie on top of Chuck's coat, with her torso buried in the black wool and her head jauntily peeking out. Perfect.

Looking up, I spotted Five-Year-Old Chuck seated alone at another table, looking longingly at the trio Nate, Serena, and little Me made up. Guilt was stirring in my stomach (not a familiar emotion for me, let me tell you) as I imagined Chuck Bass growing up lonely and friendless for the rest of his life. Right as the corners of my mouth began turning down with this thought, he looked up and fixed me with his dark stare, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. He stared at me and I at him as I wondered how on earth this innocent boy could have grown up to be the conniving, backstabbing man I had just fled.

Finally, his mouth curled into a smirk that reeked of arrogance. _Oh. That was why._

Not soon after, I heard Nate's booming footsteps approaching, followed by Serena's gazelle-like dash and Five-Year-Old Me's purposeful strut.

"I _know_ I brought her to school, S. I was brushing her hair this morning in this same chair and then I left to get juice and now she's gone!" The perfectly acted concern in my younger self's voice made me beam with pride.

"I just know it has to be somewhere around here. Can you check the higher cubbies?" Five-Year-Old Me said to Nate and Serena. They obliged, just as they had done practically since birth. No one could boss those two around like I could.

I watched as Five-Year-Old Me pretended to search the lower cubbies for the next few minutes. Sure enough, it wasn't long before Nate lost interest.

"I'm bored." He looked around, but before his eyes could land on anything, Five-Year-Old Me shrieked.

"I found her! But, oh my god, she's in _Chuck Bass's_ cubby!" She stood up and pointed so that Nate and Serena get a better look.

"Chuck Bass plays with Barbies?" Serena giggled.

"Not only that, but he stole her!"

"Chuck likes Barbies, Chuck likes Barbies." Serena and Nate began singing loudly.

"I knew he was weird when I saw his pink bowtie," a kid nearby said.

"Maybe he matches his bowties to his Barbies!" said another. Meanwhile, Serena's chant began filling the room.

Here was the time to strike the last fatal blow. I hurried over to where Nate, Serena, and Five-Year-Old Me had surrounded Chuck.

"Is this true, Chuck?" I said, as loudly as I could. "Did you steal Blair's Blairb—Barbie so you could play with it?" Students all the way on the other side of the room were now turning their heads to see why one of the "grown-ups" in the room was upset.

He gave me a look of such betrayal that I felt as if I had just kicked a puppy.

"I didn't steal it. Honest," he pleaded with what I'll admit were fairly good puppy-dog eyes.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Serena taunted.

"Yeah, how else did I find it in your cubby?" Five-Year-Old Me chimed in.

"Is this true? Did Blair find her Barbie in _your_ cubby?" I asked ostensibly to Five-Year-Old Me, but really, to the room in general. Serena and Nate both nodded vigorously.

"I'm sorry, Chuck, but I'm going to have to tell Mrs. Hawking. We don't tolerate stealing in this community," I said.

Despite my false words, I was surprised to find that I really did feel sorry for the little Basstard. That is, until he dropped the apologetic act and flashed Nate and Five-Year-Old Me a droll smirk.

The look on his face was not lost on me. How many times had I seen it while we were plotting together growing up? That look meant he already had a plan, and I was reminded of our recent games. Just when I thought I was winning, Chuck Bass was already one step ahead.

Sure enough, barely two minutes into the time-out Mrs. Hawking had inflicted on him, the entire class was sniggering—and not at him. Whenever Mrs. H or I turned around to check up on him, he was the epitome of repentance, hands solemnly clasped behind him and head hanging down. But judging from the whispers and giggles arising from the other students, he was anything but solemn.

To my dismay, even Nate seemed to be enjoying Chuck's antics. And Nate seemed to be the person Chuck was most bent on amusing. Well, second most.

Though he was always turned facing the wall when I saw him, I didn't miss the way his eyes constantly flickered to where Five-Year-Old Me was furiously coloring behind him. I grinned as he tried and failed to get her attention. _Welcome to the next twelve years of your life, Bass._

I would have dearly loved to catch him in the act of—what I expected—was him mocking Mrs. H's rather large front teeth, but the class soon dismissed for lunch and recess and Chuck was allowed to leave the corner he had turned into a stage.

Everyone but Five-Year-Old Me quickly left for lunch. She hung around in order to deliver her "I told you so".

"I hate him," she declared.

"Trust me. You don't know the half of it."

"So what do we do now?"

"I'll think about it," I assured her. She didn't look very convinced.

Lunch passed rather uneventfully. I spent it sitting in the teacher's lounge trying to dodge Mrs. Hawking's questions about the shadowing program. I nearly screamed with relief when she got up and suggested we supervise the kids at recess.

Before we even entered the playground, Five-Year-Old Me was running towards me like a frightened antelope on the Serengeti. Her face was a mess of tears (ew, I didn't know I looked like _that_ when I cried) and her eyes were wide and glistening.

"What's wrong?"

"Chuuuuck!!" she wailed, and this time, I knew she wasn't faking it.

When I followed her to the jungle gym on the playground, I immediately saw the source of her distress.

Chuck Bass was sitting at the very top, like a king on his throne, surrounded by his subjects on the lower rungs. And in his hand was Blairbie.

A very naked Blairbie.

_Oh my God._

Chuck Bass, even at five years old, was an evil genius.

"This is really why I like to play with Barbies," he explained to the crowd of guffawing boys.

My eyes were burning. Blairbie, my Blairbie was topless and bottomless and oh, the indignity of it all!

To add insult to injury, Nate was seated at his right-hand side, the place of honor, and he seemed to be enjoying the view as much as Chuck was.

"Hey, Chuck, can we play with your Barbie too?" some kid named Bradley boldly asked.

"Sorry, everyone. You'll just have to get your own," Chuck replied, his easy smile flickering as he tightened his grip on Blairbie in an almost possessive manner.

"Hands, off, Bass!" came a sudden squeak from below.

All of the boys started laughing as a tiny Blair Waldorf began climbing the jungle gym for the first time, her plaid skirt awkwardly stretching around her bent knees. I groaned and covered my eyes, dreading where this was heading.

"Oh no, did you hear that?" Chuck derided. "She's coming after me. What will I do now?"

He began climbing down the jungle gym as she was climbing up it, sticking Blairbie in her face and just as quickly removing her from sight again, as Five-Year-Old Me snatched futilely for it.

I went pale as Five-Year-Old Me took one last ferocious swipe at him, missed, and lost her balance. Fifty pairs of eyes watched as she slid backwards down the jungle gym and landed with a sickening snap on her right leg.

She let out a magnificent wail, one that sent all of the adults on the playground running and Nate climbing down to dutifully rejoin her.

"My leg! My leg! It's broken! You broke it!"

Everyone turned to Chuck, who despite his perpetual smirk, actually looked a little guilty.

"How could you bully her like that?" Serena was yelling.

"That's quite enough, Chuck. Your father will be notified of this," Mrs. H said.

The look on his face said everything. He was over.

Four hours later, I was sitting in my old room again as Five-Year-Old Me examined her new Dolce and Gabbana leopard print cast.

"Good job, Mini Me. You might not have needed to break your leg, but thanks to you, I'll be home in time for some celebratory drinks with Serena. And I'll be able to enjoy it completely single for once."

"Oh, whoopee," she muttered darkly. "All of this had better be worth it, you know."

"Oh, trust me, it will."

Right at that moment, Dorota walked in, carrying a bowl of hot soup.

"Thank you for staying, Mees—"

"Waldor—Wallace. And it's no trouble at all, Dorota."

She looked at me with that same curious stare that had been on little Chuck's face as well.

"Also, I have package for Mees Blair." She handed Five-Year-Old Me a beautifully wrapped box.

With a delighted squeal, she began neatly tearing off the paper.

"Blairbie!"

The doll didn't look weathered in the slightest. Her hair looked like it had been carefully brushed, and I could have sworn I smelled fresh paint.

But perhaps most noticeable was the replacement of the prim pilgrim-style dress that she had been wearing before with a new custom-made Constance-Billard uniform, complete with a leopard print cast.

"Ugh. And he wrote a note," she said, waving a purple card at me.

"Can he even read?"

"I'd be surprised if he knew how to write his own name. Someone else must have wrote it for him." I snatched it from her.

It simply said: _I'm sorry, Waldorf._

She turned Blairbie around, and something inside me clenched.

Her eyes had been painted brown.

"I guess it's nice," Five-Year-Old Me mused. "It kinda looks more like me now. I liked her eyes blue though."

"It's perfect," I choked out. She watched my misty eyes with suspicion.

"So when are you leaving again?"

"Mees Blair, Meester Nate for you!" called Dorota from downstairs. With all annoyance at me gone, Five-Year-Old Me began frantically patting down her hair and searching for a comb.

"Relax, you look fine. But remember—you still hate Chuck. He broke your leg. Don't forget what I'm here for."

My voice held less conviction than it had before, though. Somehow, I didn't know who exactly I was trying to convince—her or me.

Nate burst in, sunlight bouncing off of his golden locks.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes so round and blue. She nodded, nearly speechless.

"Oh, hi, Mrs. W," Nate said when he spotted me in the corner, grasping Blairbie tightly in my hands. I smiled at the youngster in acknowledgment.

"I guess I was wrong about Chuck," Nate mumbled.

"It's not your fault," Five-Year-Old Me said. "You didn't know how mean he really was." She said this as if he were the grateful peasant to her benevolent queen.

"But can you do me a favor, Nate? Can you promise never to be friends with him again?"

"Okay," Nate said.

"Pinky swear?"

He took her proffered pinky and shook it.

"I didn't want to be friends with him anyway. My dad said that boys don't play with dolls. He gave me a lacrosse stick instead."

"Blair?" I said, interrupting. "I'm going to go now. I trust Nate can take it from here."

"Leaving? Like, for real leaving?" she said, dropping Nate's hand.

"My work here is done." I smiled at the couple. Life would be so much simpler with Nate. I was confident in that.

After we said our goodbyes, I shut the door behind me and checked the hallway for any maids. When the coast was clear, I whipped out my Revisor (remember that?) and set it for the date I had left.

Once again, the images around me began blurring together as new ones began mixing in. I toppled over and slammed into the ground as I tumbled through space, taking some small comfort in knowing that at least this time, it would be for good.

When I finally dared to open my eyes again, I found myself in the master bedroom of the penthouse suite Chuck and I shared.

Everything was the exact same as I'd left it earlier. Chuck's sweater, which I had slept with last night when I realized I needed his scent to fall asleep, was still lying on the bed. I looked around for any differences, but nothing, not even a paper clip was out of place.

I could feel the walls closing in around me, and for a second, I forgot to breathe as I dove for my cell phone. 23 missed calls, all from Chuck. 19 voice messages as well. I didn't even want to check the texts because I was this close to throwing up.

I flung it across the table in frustration.

There was only one conclusion: The Revisor hadn't worked. I slid down onto my bed, dejected. After all of my pains, this was just an enormous waste of time. A money pit. I was officially the world's biggest moron.

I moved my arm to brush a stray curl from my cheek, but that stupid Revisor flyer was stuck to my forearm. I shook it off and it fluttered uselessly back down to the table.

I was so suing Radzinsky and that entire lying, deceitful company for all it was worth.

But before I could grab my purse from where it hung across the room, a series of frantic, booming knocks made me cry out.

There was only one person who would knock that loudly. And he was the last person I wanted to see.

"Come on, Waldorf. I hear you in there. Let me in!"

**A/N: Yup, you guessed it. Next chapter, Adult Chuck will be coming in to complicate matters. I want to personally thank guardian izz, howlsatthemoon, TriGemini, GGirl-CB4BW, cakebakery, ronan03, rr, and lynsay for commenting last chapter. Your comments are what kept me going this chapter. Thanks again!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I was so excited to write this chapter, partly because it alludes to one of my favorite Gossip Girl fanfics on this site, SaturnineSunshine's Allusions (.net/s/4929782/1/Allusions ). I loved her pre-pilot chapter about a game of Truth or Dare so much, I thought it should be canon and decided to include it as an essential moment in the history of Chuck and Blair. She gets a giant thank-you for serving as the inspiration for this chapter and the next one as well. I strongly recommend that you read the highly original and very well-written Allusions and all of her other amazing fics. I hope I did her story justice here. **

**

* * *

**

I counted to five before opening the door. Surprise, surprise, he was sitting on the ground, apparently drunk off his ass.

"I'm scared to think of how much you had to drink to surpass the famous Bass alcohol tolerance."

"Scared as in concerned?" he mumbled with a lopsided grin. "You know, there's a number of ways you could put that concern to use."

"You're disgusting," I spat.

"No, actually, I'm sober." I watched, mildly surprised, as he easily got to his feet.

"Excuse me, but why are you even here?"

"You know why I'm here. I'm here because we can work this out. We _need_ to work this out." There was something earnest in his warm eyes now and it scared me because for a second, I made myself believe we weren't as over as I had thought. However, I swallowed my emotions and replied in my steeliest voice.

"I thought I made it clear. We're _over_."

"Is that the best you've got, Waldorf?" he said. He leaned in closer. "You're forgetting who you're trying to fool."

I pushed him back as hard as I could, but the smug bastard only swung back like a revolving door.

"You and I both know we'll never be over, Waldorf. No matter what you or I may put us through, we'll always be inevitable."

That last statement made me shiver. Did he know? I was 99% certain he didn't, but I still shifted the Revisor higher up on my wrist just in case.

"There is no inevitable. And there is no us. So if you could kindly lea—"

"If you think I'm going anywhere—" he began.

"If you think I'm going to just take your sorry ass back after what you did," I yelled over him. "Then you must be delusional." He fell silent.

"Now I am going to the Box with Serena for a girl's night out."

"Does this girl's night out involve some of Serena's manwhore friends?" Chuck asked, his voice suddenly quiet like the calm before the storm.

"Oh, that's rich, coming from the biggest manwhore the Upper East Side has ever seen." He opened his mouth and then closed it again. I took that as an opportunity to continue.

"So what if I meet a good-looking, decent guy once in a while. Do you know how exhausting it was to be your girlfriend? I should have done this years ago."

"Should've done this ,my ass," he swore. He looked like he was going to curse some more, but thought better of it.

"What'll it take, Blair?" he said, desperately, like a man who has suddenly realized that everything he owns is being taken out from under him. "I'll make you a director just like you wanted. You'll have a say in the company, I promise." He had grabbed my hands now, holding on to them so tightly, I was pretty sure he was cutting off my circulation.

"What do you say?"

"You gave the position to Alpert already. It's too late."

"It's never too late, Blair. God, we'll--we'll tell Alpert the other trustees decided against the promotion. It'll be all yours."

"Now even I wouldn't stoop that low."

"It would be worth it if it meant having you." He said, his voice cracking. Still, I couldn't ignore the fact that the wreck of a man in front of me had voted against me in electing the newest director. Which might sound ridiculous to you, but I had worked from practically the day after graduation to reach this point.

I had it all planned out. I was supposed to work my way up the company hierarchy until I was a director on the board of directors. Then, I'd let him propose to me, we'd get married, make some beautiful babies, and…it didn't even matter anymore. My perfect plan for our life together had been thwarted by my very own boyfriend.

"Why wasn't it worth it yesterday? Why did you vote for _Alpert_ yesterday at the meeting—I even heard you tell Mr. Linus you thought Alpert was clearly the better candidate. I thought you believed in me."

"I do, Blair. I do. It's just so much more complicated than that. You don't understand—"

"I think I understand perfectly. The things you told me all the while you were letting me sleep with you, God, was any of that even true? I feel like a complete moron right now because the whole time you were making secret deals with that ratface Alpert."

"Blair, you know I didn't do that."

"Then why?" I felt a tear escape my eye and I wiped it back, furious that he should have to see me like this. He sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"I was afraid that…if I elected you, the other directors would call foul. That Alpert would throw a fit and appeal to them. After all, he _has_ been here longer--" I cleared my throat, but he rolled his eyes. "--and you know it. They were already leaning towards him before you put in a bid for the position. Besides, they're not exactly pleased with me on the Takanawa deal, and I still need them to finalize my plans for my new hotel. You'll have your chance when the next director retires, I promise."

I was so mad, I was shaking.

"It's always just another business deal with you, isn't it? I'm just a pawn in your chess game? I'm like another hotel to you?" I screamed, waving my hands around.

I was so caught up in the moment that I didn't even realize that the Revisor had slid down my wrist (damn you, one size fits all!) and out from underneath the sleeve of my coat. He, however, with his innate radar for everything Blair caught it instantly. When I saw that his face had frozen, and I looked down at the ugly wristwatch, I braced myself for the worst.

When he next spoke, his voice was low and deadly.

"Who gave you that?" he said quietly. The last time I had heard that voice was when he punched the living daylights out of some guy at Gilt who I had flirted with to make him jealous.

"Who gave me what?" I said innocently, moving to cross my arms, but he was too quick for me, and in a flash, his hand was gripping my wrist.

"This piece of crap. Who gave it to you?"

"Don't be stupid. I bought it yesterday."

"Oh, I'm sure. Which store?"

"Bergdorf's."

"Drop the act, Waldorf. The real Bergdorf's would never sell something as hideous as this, and I know you would never shop from the bargain bin. So who's the lucky guy? Or should I say, unlucky, when I introduce him to my fist."

I sighed. I was _so not_ in the mood to deal with this.

"You know, all of this jealousy isn't exactly helping your case," I said. He didn't even seem to hear me.

"He'd have to be blind—or downtown—to buy you something so hideous."

"I can't take this anymore, Chuck. I'm leaving. Don't follow me." Which is, of course, the next thing he did. He followed me to the elevator and on the trip down and all the way across the lobby.

Whenever I was not successful in tuning him out, I would hear random snippets of his rant.

"Even worse taste than Nathaniel. At least Nathaniel had the sense to have me pick out your birthday gifts…you must really like this loser, huh, to suffer the humiliation of having to wear that hunk of metal in public. Now I…"

I held up my hand to silence him and said the only thing I knew would stop him from following me all the way to ReviseIt.

"He's blond, has blue eyes, and is amazing in bed. Bye now." Before he could blink, I was out of there, hailing a taxi and throwing myself in before he could grab the door handle.

"You running away, miss?" the old, crusted-up cab driver said as he took in my breathless state.

"You could say that," I replied. "Can you get to 45 Hudson Street?"

"Lady, I can take you anywhere you want except away from your problems." He looked at me seriously. I scowled back.

"Who are you supposed to be—Jacob? You should stick to driving if you want your tip at the end."

That shut him up.

While he drove, I thought about everything I had done in the past. What had gone wrong? I even reread my journal entry from that day in case I missed any details, but my plan was flawless, if I do say so myself. The only logical conclusion—the Revisor was a scam. I ripped it off and marched into the building (after throwing the cab driver a respectable tip) purposefully. I didn't stop until I had shoved the useless hunk of metal back in that charlatan Radzinsky's face.

"Uhh, can I help you, Ms. Waldorf?"

"Well, you can start by giving me a refund for this infernal contraption before I call my father down here to take legal action."

"I take it you didn't get the desired results on your first try?"

"First try? You never mentioned I'd have to try this more than once!"

"Erm…sometimes, our clients have a little difficulty with revising at first, especially if the object or person they want to erase is particularly omnipresent in their lives. You need to pick the right moment and change the circumstances in just the right way for it to work."

"What if I can't do that?"

"Yes, well, that's also a possibility," he said looking down at the floor. "In cases where the outcome is unchangeable, dare we say, inevitable, it may be impossible." He gulped. "But only theoretically, of course."

"Theoretically, right…" I murmured, but all the while, the words, "_We're inevitable, Waldorf" _were playing like a broken record in my ears.

A wave of cold fear crashed over me then; what if the Basstard was right? What if we were…no, no, that's impossible. How can a relationship that's supposed to be inevitable resist even my smallest attempts to make it work?

"I'm going back," I said with utmost conviction. I wish there had been a swelling score to accompany this statement, like at the end of Breakfast at Tiffany's, but instead, there was only a grunt from the balding man beside me.

I put my Revisor back on and rummaged through my bag to find my teenage diary. Here it was, all pink satin and diamond-encrusted with "Mrs. Nate Archibald" scrawled all over the inside of the cover. Yecch, I'm so glad I'm done with that stage.

I set my Revisor for the night of my fourteen-year-old sleepover, grabbed my bag, and pressed the button, this time ignoring the nausea and headaches because this time, I wouldn't fail. I was certain of it.

* * *

_October 14, 2006. 4:30 PM._

This time, I landed squarely in my bedroom—my old bedroom, thanking the heavens for my plush carpet. By the time I had picked myself up, I found a pair of curious, slightly fearful, brown eyes staring back at me.

"You came back," 14-Year-Old-Me said.

"Well, seeing as how the mission turned out to be not-so-accomplished, I had to come back and fix it, didn't I?"

"Meez Blair!" came a shout from downstairs.

"Oh, shoot," 14-Year-Old-Me said, quickly jumping out of her chair and flying across the room to lock the door.

"Meez Blair, what was big boom sound from?"

"It's okay, Dorota. I just knocked over my chair," she hollered back. She turned and peered at me as if I was a ghost.

"So you're real? You're not just something my five-year-old imagination made up?"

"Please, Waldorfs are never crazy. I'm real, and stop looking at me like that; I'm not going to spontaneously disappear in thin air or anything."

"What are you doing here then? Why didn't you just go back to first grade?"

"Well, as that attempt was a bust, and Nate and Chuck are as firm friends as ever…I thought I might nip this relationship in the bud more directly."

"You're going to split up Chuck and Nate?"

"_No_, I'm going to prevent your first kiss from happening tonight," I answered. She propped herself up on the bed by her arms now, as if this was Truth or Dare at a sleepover.

"My first kiss is tonight?" she squealed, completely ignoring the part where I said I was here to crush it. "When is Nate coming to my party?"

"Nate? How is he--?"

"He's kissing me tonight, right?" she said, eyes glowing.

"Um…not exactly." She looked at me, puzzled.

"You said I was getting my first kiss tonight," she said, looking like a kid that had been told that Christmas was canceled.

"Earth to Blair!" I snapped. "Are you forgetting why I'm here?"

"To stop you and Chuck from—" she trailed off, looking as if she had been suddenly struck by food poisoning. "No…"

I lowered my eyes as if I was at a funeral procession.

"You're telling me that I'm swapping saliva with _Chuck Bass_?" 14-Year-Old-Me asked. The look on my face was all the confirmation she needed.

"EWWWWW," she screamed, burying her face in the nearest pillow. "Was I drugged or something?"

I decided now was not a good time to tell her about the whole limo-and-my-virginity thing. Somehow, I didn't think she'd take it well.

"You were playing truth or dare," I said calmly, as if that explained everything.

"Whose dare was it?" she demanded.

"Hazel's."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Oh, she is so uninvited. In fact, I'm putting her on minion probation. She's never going to a single Waldorf soiree ever again." She picked up her cell-phone and dialed Hazel's number with vindictive speed.

After she was finished reducing poor, confused Hazel to tears, I looked up from my diary to watch her watching me with a satisfied grin.

"That's it, right?" she said. "No more (here, she grimaced) Chuck Bass in my future?"

"Well, we want to be extra careful this time, so it's best to just stay away from 1Oak entirely. Do whatever you have to do. Bring them to another club." She nodded, eagerly.

"I'll be here until the day is up," I told her. She seemed comforted by that promise.

"Now, let's get you dressed up for this sleepover."

"Soiree."

"Yeah, whatever."

* * *

"So what do you have planned for us tonight, Blair?" They had finished trying on the racks of clothes my mother had left for us and had finished glancing at the chocolate fountain (of course, no one used it). I was getting seriously bored from my hiding spot in one of the lesser-used closets in the foyer. How had I ever thought these things were fun?

"I heard Rain Hoffstetter's parents flew her to France last week. It's all a big scandal. That's why she couldn't come tonight," Kati whispered conspiratorially. The other girls crowded around her, with 14-Year-Old-Me sipping a cosmo at the center, trying to hide the anxiety that would occasionally flit across her face.

Great, more mindless gossip. Still, I had to see this one through to the end.

Suddenly, all of their phones chimed in unison and they whipped them out to read up on the latest Gossip Girl scoop.

"Miss Burke was spotted at 1Oak with a senior?"

"Oh my God, is she that French intern?"

"I saw her the other afternoon with the swim captain. Such a whore."

"Ladies, ladies," 14-Year-Old-Me said, raising her hands to silence them. I saw her glance worriedly at the closet I was hiding in, as if she could sense where this was heading. "Gossip Girl has been unreliable before. There aren't even pictures to back this one up."

"That's not what you said when you sent that text about Alexa last week," Kati said in protest. 14-Year-Old-Me gave her a quelling look.

"Regardless, I'm getting bored," Penelope said. "1Oak is clearly the it spot tonight. Why would we sit here when we could be sipping martinis at the front seat of all of this action?" I heard a chorus of murmurs of agreement.

"Is your party really going to be remembered as the flop of the year?" Penelope said. Oh, she was good.

"I dare you to take us there, B!" said Serena, clapping her hands and completely oblivious to the look of unease on her best friend's face.

"Fine, I give up," 14-Year-Old-Me finally said. "I'll call the limo."

* * *

If I thought hiding out in a closet was hard, following them to 1Oak was even harder. I waited five minutes after they had all disappeared before taking the elevator downstairs and hurrying out the door.

"I thought you had already left, Miss Waldorf," the doorman said, clearly confused.

"Oh, I just forgot something," I said, holding an arm out for a taxi.

"1Oak, and make it quick," I said, after sliding into the cab. He started driving without another word.

I hung onto the edge of the seat, confused and worried. Chuck Bass was at 1Oak. My first kiss had been at 1Oak. I needed to get them out of there, and pronto.

Before the cab had even come to a stop, I threw a pile of twenties at the driver and moved to open the door.

"I hope whatever you're after is worth all of this fuss," the cab driver said, as I gripped the door handle. I looked at him, really looked at him for the first time during our drive.

It was the same Yoda-like cab driver I had met in the present.

"You again?"

He chuckled.

"Good luck."

* * *

It turned out all of my rushing had been for nothing, since the party was stalled at the entrance, where they were trying and failing to convince the bouncer to let them in. I breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of their crestfallen faces.

I guess I sighed a moment too soon.

"Don't worry, Landon. They're with me," said a bored, drawling voice. I closed my eyes. Why, God, why?!?

"Ugh, _Bass_. I don't need _you_ to get us in. We were just about to leave anyway," I heard 14-Year-Old-Me say.

I shoved my way through the crowd, totally ignoring the cries of protest that followed me. I knew what came next, and I knew it had to be stopped. Now that young Bass was back in the picture, I needed to get into that club.

But even as 14-Year-Old-Me was protesting, the girls were walking in. Younger Chuck put an arm around her shoulder. What would been a friendly, brotherly gesture coming from anyone else was inexplicably sleazy coming from Chuck.

"See, friends do favors for each other," he said as they headed inside. "May I suggest some ways to return the favor?" I heard 14-Year-Old-Me mutter a threat, possibly involving castration, but before I could follow them in, I walked straight into the bouncer.

"Hey, I was with _them_!" I yelled in protest.

"Chuck said to let Blair Waldorf and her party in. Unless you're trying to pass yourself off as a fourteen-year-old, or there's two Blair Waldorfs running around, you're not going in." I glared at him, but he didn't move an inch.

Before I could open my mouth to threaten him, the same drawling voice, only deeper and more masculine, cut in.

"Don't worry, Landon. She's with me."

The hostile expression instantly slid off my face, and I stumbled back in disbelief, looking around for a disembodied voice, almost willing myself to believe that I was merely hearing things and that there was _no possible way_ that Chuck Bass was…

As my eyes landed on the person I was least expecting to see here, I could vaguely hear something like a strangled choking gasp and realized it was coming from my own throat.

Oh God, this was bad, this was bad bad bad bad _bad_.

Because leaning against the wall was a 24-year-old Chuck Bass, matching gold Revisor glinting on his wrist. He caught my eye and smirked.

"It's nice to see you too, Waldorf."

**A/N: I'd like to thank guardian izz, GGirl-CB4BW, asha, Michaellllla, BassKingdom, ronan03, TriGemini, Mrs. Cohen, CB, ggff-fan, Besotted B, EmeRies, and lynsay for commenting on the last chapter. Seriously, I love you guys!!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Wow, I am amazed and so thankful for all of the feedback I got for the last chapter. It's been over a month since I last updated (Sorry!!), but I hope the wait was worth it!**

I had no words. None. On the contrary, UpChuck had plenty.

"Fancy seeing you in the past, huh?" he said, still smirking. When I was still silent, he tried another tactic.

"Looking good, Waldorf," he said, eyeing the Cesare Paccioti strapless dress I had changed into before leaving. The feeling of his warm hand against my bare arm made me jump.

"You—do _not_ touch me. If it wasn't okay in the time period we just left, what makes you think it's okay now?"

"Because tonight is the first night _you_ are supposed to touch _me_."

"It was just a kiss. A truth or dare kiss."

"Then why are you here trying to stop it?" I rolled my eyes and ignored his question.

"How did you even get here?" I said, crossing my arms.

"I never forgot this night," he said, for the first time sounding serious. "It wasn't too hard to imagine you'd be here too."

"No, I mean, all of this," I said, pointing to our matching Revisors. Now, he rolled _his_ eyes.

"Seeing as how you ditched me in the lobby, right outside a parade of taxis, it wasn't exactly hard to follow you. All it took was a hefty donation to ReviseIt, and they happily pointed me in your direction."

"You had no right to be stalking me!"

"You had no right to be changing the past without my consent!" he said in that deadly quiet angry voice of his. "Do you know what it feels like to find out that some of the best memories of your life are being erased because someone else stopped caring? You and me—you can't just change that like you change your dress. We have _history_."

I have to admit. Saying no to a speech like that nearly killed me. But I couldn't fall for another one of his dramatic pleas again. I didn't come all this way to be sidetracked by a Bass.

"Aren't you tired of fighting? Don't you believe, even for just a second, that life would be so much simpler if we didn't have this?"

"Sure, I think that. But then I look at you, and I know that all of it, all of this bullshit, is worth it."

"Worth fighting over?"

"Always." He was looking me full in the face now, and I couldn't look away.

"Then prove it. Fight for it. Of course, you're going to lose and we'll cease to exist, but in the meantime, show me that you want _us_."

"That is assuming you win," he said. "I'll do you one better, Waldorf. I'll defeat you. I'll stop you at every turn until you realize this whole thing is pointless."

"It'll be the game to end all games," I said, excitement growing in the pit of my belly. Just the thought of it was kind of…turning me on. He licked his lips, and I knew he was thinking the same thing. We sported identical calculating grins.

_This'll be easy_, I thought. The only thing more satisfying than Bass-proofing my life was out-Bassing Chuck. He was so going down.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, I was wishing we had followed the birthday party inside before making our bet. The crowd was packed, and they were nowhere to be found. Fourteen-Year-Old Me and Fourteen-Year-Old Chuck could have made out, gotten married, and left for their honeymoon for all I knew. To make matters worse, Chuck had decided he had nothing better to do in the past than follow me around.

"So, did you enjoy my Gossip Girl tip?" he said in my ear. Even as my mouth opened in outrage, I had to try hard not to breathe in the scent of him that hung in the air. Well, I tried.

"Your—Oh my effing God!" I smacked his arm with my purse. "You evil, conniving—ugh, I should have _known_ it was you. Scandals and Gossip Girl tips—your specialty. That's why there was no picture of Ms. Burke. You made the whole thing up!"

"Well, not completely. Ms. Burke really did hook up with a student. Possibly the one and only French class I didn't skip…" he trailed off with a dreamy look on his face.

"Make one more remark about your vulgar past and I'll make it so you were never born. Literally." Before he could respond, my eyes had landed on them, the Headband Huddle sipping identical cosmos (I vaguely remember that being the It drink way back when.)

"I found them!" I whispered excitedly, whipping my head around, but finding no Bass in sight. He had disappeared. The thought of it struck me as a little unsettling, but I refocused on the situation at hand and maneuvered myself to a spot close to but hidden from the Blair Brigade.

"Way to go, Serena! His cell phone _and_ his wallet," Kati was crowing. Serena wobbled unsteadily to her feet and took a dramatic bow, her mane of spun gold hair catching the light—and the eyes of many a guy in the crowd.

"Truly impressive, S. I think you've locked lips with just about every investment banker in this place," Fourteen-Year-Old-Me was saying imperiously. "Whose turn is it next?"

"Yours," Is said.

"And I have the perfect dare," said Penelope. She paused for effect. "Make out with Chuck Bass for two minutes."

I should have known. After all, history had thwarted me once before. If not Hazel, then Penelope.

Well, that made my plan a little harder. I wondered if the time travel police would come and arrest me if I simply knocked her out and dragged her away.

"Easy," she said, sipping her cosmo and fixed them with my patented Mona Lisa smile. I wasn't as easily fooled though. Out of the corner of her eyes, she was glancing frantically for some way out, and I knew that underneath the smile, her mind was going a mile a minute.

She looked exactly like I did when I was secretly in thought. I suddenly thought of how alike we looked; to the untrained eye, we could switch places and no one would be any the wiser. That's when a plan started to take shape…

"In fact, I'll find him now," she announced loudly to all within earshot.

"How will we know that you did it?" Penelope said.

"Why don't you ask him in an hour or so? I'll give him a kiss he won't forget." She got to her feet as confidently as she could and strode through the crowd.

I had no idea what she was planning on doing, but now we were working against the clock. As soon as she was out of view of the party, I intercepted her.

"Thank God you're here," she said. "Penelope dared me to kiss Chuck!"

"I know. I heard it all. We have to go to the bathroom. I have an idea," I had to yell over the music.

"What?"

"The bathroom! Now!"

As soon as we made it to the restroom (five whole minutes later, due to the crowds), I took a middle stall and shut the door. The one left to it was occupied, so she settled into the one on the right, and we talked through the divider.

"Listen, we're going to trade dresses and shoes. You'll wear this hat-" here I tossed over a floppy, wide-brimmed hat from my purse. "And keep a low profile. I'll look like you, kiss the Bass, and you'll have done your dare."

"Not a bad plan," she said.

"It's a good plan," I corrected. "You'll eventually come up with a few of your own someday. Now, here's my dress," I said, letting it lie over the top of the door. It soon disappeared from sight.

A few minutes later, she hung her dress over the top of my door and slid her heels underneath. I slid her my Jimmy Choos and went to work on the Louboutins. Unfortunately for me, my feet had grown another size up in the past decade, so they were particularly difficult to work with.

"I'm finished," she announced a couple of minutes later. "I'm going now."

"Okay, I'll be out in a couple of minutes," I said, adjusting the shoe strap. I heard the door swing shut behind her, followed by the sound of the stall door next to mine unlocking and opening.

Call it instinct but I couldn't help but check out the stranger's shoes as they stopped outside of my stall. They were made of rich brown Italian leather, and oddly enough, they looked just like the shoes Chuck liked to wear.

Chuck...

I reached up for the dress.

It was gone.

"What the--?" I whipped around, searching for the scrap of blue. "Blair?" I called out, even though I knew she had already left.

I felt like a criminal in hiding, holding the door closed against the police waiting on the other side. So you see, I _really _didn't want to open the door.

I opened the door.

"Chuck!"

"Surprise, surprise."

"Do you mind?" I said, shutting it a little and looking down to make sure my half-naked body was hidden from his view. "I'd like my dress back."

"It would come—with a price," Chuck said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. He walked to the bathroom entrance, opened the door, and waited for my next move.

"I am _not_ sleeping with you!" I said, opening my stall door a little wider.

He wasn't seriously going to leave, was he?

"My, my, Waldorf. What a dirty mind you have. I was going to say, drop all of this and go back to the future with me, but I guess you have a more romantic bargain in mind."

I lunged for the dress, but he easily dodged me and got halfway out the door, before I threw my weight on the handle and stopped him. He didn't look fazed at all. Instead, his eyes rudely scanned my body in that salacious way of his.

"Is that the lingerie I bought you last month?"

"Give me that dress or so help me God, I will murder you!" I could feel my cheeks burning with shame. I mean, could it get any more degrading—him holding my dress up out of reach while I, in my current state of undress, reached for it futilely.

I pretended I didn't secretly enjoy the chance it gave me to be near him again. Even while I was flailing against him, I couldn't help but notice how _good_ he smelled, and how warm his arm was.

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. I didn't know whether this was from the physical exertion of fighting me off or if he was feeling the same.

"Oh come on, Waldorf. You didn't think I'd go down without a serious fight, did you?" His voice slightly hoarse.

"I thought we banned public nudity from our games a few years ago after that strip poker game at Serena's. We both know how jealous you get when any guy but you sees me naked."

"That's funny because I distinctly remember _you_ being the jealous one when Little J tried to take my pants off."

"Me? Jealous?" I cried.

"Why shouldn't you be? After all, I _am_ Chuck Ba--"

With a battle cry, I made a move to rip the dress from his hands, but he sidestepped me and took advantage of my distracted state in order to push the door open and slip out. I felt a stream of cool satin slip through my fingers. The last thing I saw was his dancing brown eyes taunting me as the crowd parted for him before the door closed.

* * *

This was not my proudest moment. For one, I was dressed as a male bartender. This alone was enough for me to be thankful that no one from my time (except Chuck) was here to see me.

Still more embarrassing (and disgusting) was the fact that I had to swap saliva with a bartender who reminded me of Aaron Rose and who was clearly a complete moron for not being suspicious at all when a half-naked socialite practically mauled him in the hallway on his way to the bathroom. As if he could have dreamed of having _this_ in any life.

Years of playing UES Truth or Dare had made me a pro at stealing the poor shmuck's clothes. Even as I was leaving, he was counting to forty with his gullible eyes tightly shut.

I had slipped the pants and shirt on in a private room and tied my hair up so that from far away, I at least looked like a man. A very effeminate man.

Cursing the fifteen minutes I had lost and praying to God Fourteen-Year-Old Me was still safely hiding, I made my way back to their table but stopped short when I saw both Fourteen-Year-Old Me and Present-Day Chuck already there.

"Yeah, I had to freshen up and got a little lost on the way back. No biggie," I could hear Fourteen-Year-Old Me say as convincingly as I can. "Thanks, urm, Uncle Jack. I almost lost my party there."

Uncle Jack? Actually, that was a pretty brilliant cover…

"No problem. I'm always willing to be of assistance," Chuck aka Uncle Jack said. Kati and Is were gazing at him with adoring eyes, and I noticed more than a few women from other tables admiring him in his crisp navy suit. I could feel that flare of jealousy rising up again and I wondered where it had come from.

"Uncle Jack, we were wondering where your nephew was," I heard Kati ask, fluttering her eyes shamelessly.

"Actually, he's right there at the bar. Completely available for any dares."

I had an uneasy feeling in my stomach, and suddenly, I realized that the odds were in Chuck's favor. My fourteen-year-old self was going to have to do this dare—her reputation and social standing depended on it. There was nothing I could do to stop _her_. The only thing I could do was make sure Chuck was unavailable for her to complete the dare.

Now this I could do.

It only took a twenty and a point in adolescent Chuck's direction for the pale curly-haired brunette to approach him. She wasn't a dead ringer for me, but in this case, she would have to do. He smiled at her as she smoothed out his suit flirtatiously. Hook, line, and sinker.

But before I could round up some victory martinis, she was walking away from him with an affronted look on her face, and he was looking regretful. However, this look was soon replaced by one of smug satisfaction and surprisingly, a dash of nervousness. I whipped my head around and saw Fourteen-Year-Old Me approaching him, her face worried but defiant.

This was it.

Like a hero in slow-motion, I dove back behind the counter, grabbed a pitcher of ice water, and dumped it on Fourteen-Year-Old Chuck's head.

Five seconds later, it occurred to me that maybe that was a bad idea. Four things happened, all at once.

1) Fourteen-Year-Old Chuck let out a ferocious yell, threatening to sue the establishment.

2) The entire club fell silent.

3) Fourteen-Year-Old Me stopped in her tracks.

4) I ducked and almost got away. Almost, because before I could get out from behind the bar I ran headlong into Present-Day Chuck Bass.

Oh, shit.

"Water, Waldorf? How original."

"Let me go!"

"And dressed as a bartender. I'm a little flattered you went to such great lengths, only to be stopped here."

"You are _not_ stopping me. Not now, not ever!" I struggled against his arms as he dragged me outside.

"Blair! Blair!" I yelled, as we passed Fourteen-Year-Old Me on our way out. She turned and looked at me with confusion. I mean, seeing as how I was being forcibly dragged out of the club by an older-looking Chuck who was now covering my mouth with his hand, all while wearing a bartender uniform, I could see why she would be confused.

"Where were you?" she yelled.

"Mmmrmpph," I said.

"Ow!" Chuck said. "You bit my hand!"

"Don't kiss him!" I yelled at her, ignoring him. "I know your reputation might seem like it depends on it, but for your own sake, don't kiss him!"

"You don't understand," she said, following us outside. "I'll be an Upper East Side laughingstock."

"Look at me!" I said. I thrashed a little harder for good measure. "Do you want to end up like this?"

"Don't listen to her," Chuck said. "Stop kicking me, Waldorf, and I'm telling you this for _your_ own good. Do you want to change the future by making your past self lose her spot on the steps? Do you want to end up as a loser throughout high school, lose your spot at Yale, and end up marrying Walter Gompers?"

Fourteen-Year-Old Me blanched.

"Oh, shut up!" I said. "Don't listen to him. That's _not_ going to happen."

"Queen Bee, Yale," he said. "Or lunch in the _cafeteria_ with Brooklyn."

The club doors swung open and Fourteen-Year-Old Chuck Bass stormed out, followed by the manager, who was nearly kissing his feet with apologies.

"It's final! I'm leaving," he said. "You can expect to hear from my father in the morning."

Arthur opened the limo door as his employer's son approached.

"Think about it," Present-Day Chuck was saying. "Your future depends on it."

As Fourteen-Year-Old Chuck stormed by, still damp but no longer dripping, a pale white hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"For the last time," he snarled, before turning around. "I—"

Everyone watched as Fourteen-Year-Old Me pulled Chuck's mouth down to hers and shut him up with a kiss that seemed to suck all the air from the city. His eyes widened in surprise, but as his hands landed on her familiar brown curls and he looked down at the girl that had the front of his jacket fisted in her tiny hands, something else (wonder? amazement? I didn't know if there were words for it) flickered in his eyes before his eyelids fluttered closed and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tiny frame closer to him. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck.

I could have broken it up. I could have pulled them apart. But watching them, watching _us_, I had to admit we looked _good_.

I looked over at Present-Day Chuck and saw the same thoughts written across his face. He turned to look at me, and some unspoken energy seemed to flow between us. We didn't need to be fused at the lips to feel a connection. He opened his mouth.

"Feeling left out? Wanna give it a try?" he said. Of course, he had to kill the mood.

"Sure, when hell freezes over," I retorted.

Looking over at them, I noticed they were still going at it, clutching each other like life preservers. I checked my watch.

"Two minutes!" I yelled. The fourteen-year-old versions of ourselves reluctantly broke apart, staring at each other so intimately, I had to look away.

The sight of them bathed in the gentle blush of our early days was depressing me. I wish someone back then had warned me, had shown me the hell of the next ten years of my life. Would I have still chosen to be with him knowing what I know now? Was there even a choice?

A light tap on my arm woke me from my thoughts.

"Do you still need me or are we just going to try again in the future?" Fourteen-Year-Old Me said impatiently.

"A Waldorf never gives up," I told her sadly while looking straight at Present-Day Chuck. "You'll have to see me one more time before I win."

"If by that, you mean you'll be seeing her many more times before you _lose_, then I'd say you're right," Present-Day Chuck said.

"See?" I said to Fourteen-Year-Old Me while pointing to Chuck. "This is what we're up against."

Chuck rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to go rejoin my party now, if you two don't mind," Fourteen-Year-Old Me said. They were waiting by the doors, Kati and Is giggling over the picture they took. Great, it was already on its way to Gossip Girl. But I figured I'd let Fourteen-Year-Old Me deal with it in the morning.

"Put Penelope on a good, grueling probation for me. Shoe-wiping and all," I said as Fourteen-Year-Old Me swung around and headed towards the party of girls hanging by the door.

"Yeah, tell her I owe her one for my dare," Chuck said smugly. "I never did thank her all those years ago."

"_Your_ dare?"

"You thought Penelope was smart enough to come up with that on her own? Please, ten years ago, it was my idea for her to dare you to make out with me. She and Hazel thought you'd turn it down. But it worked, didn't it? Best night of my fourteen-year-old life."

I couldn't even look at him, I was so mad. Even though I didn't want to admit it, it had been a bright, shining memory in our history.

"And you just ruined it," I said out loud.

"I just saved us."

To add further insult, Fourteen-Year-Old Chuck joined him at his side with a matching smirk. Two Chuck Basses. That was more than the world deserved to handle.

"Wow," Fourteen-Year-Old Chuck said, letting out a long breath. "You weren't kidding." Present-Day Chuck patted him on the back.

"Nice work, Casanova."

I looked between the two of them.

"Nice work? Nice work?!? I should've known you filled him in on everything!" I yelled.

"Hey, just giving him a heads-up so he would know what to look forward to. And what to avoid—like that two-cent whore you sent in his direction. Thanks but no thanks."

"You know what, fine. Stay and have your little heart-to-heart. I'm heading back to change."

Of course, I wasn't really going back. But he didn't need to know that.

After walking down a couple of blocks, I pulled out my diary again and opened it to the bookmarked page. This time, I was going to do this alone. Chuck Bass wasn't going to get in the way anymore.

After checking to make sure the Basstard was out of my sight, I punched the numbers into my Revisor and watched as the lights of Manhattan began spinning.

"Hey!" came a loud yell from behind me.

From the corner of my vision, I could see a dark blur looming larger and larger.

If you've ever traveled through time, you know it's hard enough to try to stand still; it's another thing altogether to try to run away from someone while traveling through time.

This is probably why I stumbled and fell to the ground before he even needed to tackle me.

And let me tell you, falling while spinning through time _hurts_.

The last thing I saw before closing my eyes in pain was Chuck, his face level with my foot, hanging onto my ankle like his life depended on it.

**A/N: As always, comments are greatly appreciated (comments = happiness!). Thanks to Guardian Izz, ronan03, Juicyxoxocharm16, ochibi-chwan, LunaSeasMoonChild, asha, TriGemini, batgirl2992, lynsay, delphin4ik, cherrysugar, BlairC, acv315, Nyx Underwood, penelope, suspensegirl, BassKingdom, ggff-fan, thegoodgossipgirl, Michaelllllla, and Ori1 for commenting last chapter. You guys are the best readers ever! 3**

The door swung shut behind her.


End file.
